Something crossed Dante’s features. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’
Charlotte’s heart twisted. ‘No?’
‘We’re getting married, Charlotte. We haven’t talked about a divorce—there will be other events, in the future, with my grandmother. I’m sure of it.’
‘Oh.’ She blinked quickly. She wasn’t sure she could muster the emotional fortitude to keep pretending. Not now that she knew how much of her act had been real. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right.’
‘So, keep the necklace. Wear it whenever she’s around. It will make her happy.’
She bit into her lower lip, staring at the black velvet pouch.
‘It will make me happy.’
And really, what wouldn’t she do to make him happy? She glanced across at him and he smiled. Every part of her began to tremble with just how much she felt for this man. He leaned forward a little and she matched his gesture until their lips met and they were kissing beneath the ancient, starlit sky, surrounded by the fragrance of citrus blossoms and night flowering jasmine. She kissed him, finally realising that he was the love of her life and he’d never, ever know it.
They’d promised each other this was a meaningless marriage of convenience, a transactional, mutually beneficial arrangement, devoid of any truth or emotion, and damn it if she wasn’t going to keep acting her heart out and pretend that was still the case—even when it hurt more than she could ever put into words.
Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte had alwaysloved London. It was a part of her, stitched into her soul, and had been from the first time she and Jane had come to town together, exploring it as teenagers, jumping on the tube and travelling around wherever the Piccadilly or Jubilee or Northern lines decided to take them.
But the moment Dante’s jet touched down in the city, and they slipped into his limousine bound for South Ken-sington, a darkness had settled around Charlotte. A sense of reality. A feeling that everything they’d shared in Italy had been some kind of dream that wouldn’t translate to this life, to this place.
There, she’d felt so close to him, regardless of what they’d said from the start. There, neither had had work commitments, or other obligations. They’d been together from morning until night. They’d slept in the same bed. They’d shared every meal, every pot of coffee, every laugh, every swim, every little bit of it. And even without understanding what she was feeling, until that night by the pool, she’d intrinsically known that it was a very special time. That he made her feel special, even if he didn’t love her.
But back in London, with work to consume them both and the inevitable taking over of the Papandreo company, it was easy to believe things would change between them. Or rather, go back to what they’d been before. Sex but otherwise, a polite distance.
The thought left her cold, when she suspected it should have been reassuring.
They travelled in silence, but Charlotte was too wrapped up in her thoughts and worries to notice or care. But as the car pulled into his street, Dante made a sound of surprise. She glanced at him, and then followed the direction of his gaze, to where a woman was standing outside his house.
A tall, brunette, dressed in a skinny jeans, hi-top sneakers and a pretty camisole top.
Something in Charlotte began to sink. ‘Someone you know?’
He glanced at her, frowning a little. ‘You could say that.’
Her heart sank further as a premonition took hold.
‘Jamie,’ he said, and when the car pulled up, he turned to face Charlotte. ‘I’m not sure why she’s here. Wait here while I go and see.’
Charlotte’s chest seemed to tighten. ‘You want me to wait in the car while you talk to your ex-wife?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know who should be more annoyed about that—her or me.’
He grimaced. ‘What would you prefer?’
Irritation flicked at her souls. ‘We’re getting married, Dante. You can’t hide me forever.’
He looked at her with a sense of confusion. ‘I’m not hiding you. I’m trying to protect you.’
Her nostrils flared; she seriously doubted that.
‘From your ex-wife?’
‘I have no idea why she’s here. What mood she’s in.’ Something about his statement had her pausing her own indignant thoughts and homing in on him and his mindset. She knew enough to understand that his marriage had been an emotional minefield at the end. And evidently still had the potential to be.
‘It’s fine,’ she said, glancing away. ‘I’ll go and get some groceries,’ she said. ‘Go, talk to her.’ She forced a smile. ‘This is none of my business.’
He nodded, accepting that. Her heart splintered. She watched him get out of the car and walk towards his ex-wife. She watched them hug. She saw him smile and she felt like an outsider, looking at two people who belonged together. She felt—broken. As the car pulled away from the kerb, a single tear slid down her cheek.
